#Imorah Series

[sulkysnape]

i wanted to share some of my writing that i worked on today. it’s not sev related, but it’s about my dnd character “Lyria”. idk if anyone will read this, but i’m a little proud of it :)

The celebration of House Thalor was a very grand event, thrown annually to commemorate the unwavering strength of House Thalor and all that they do for the people of Calidan. In the beginning, the celebrations were for the people of Calidan, but as the years passed and the wealth and success of the Thalor family grew, the event became something more—a spectacle of power. Lord and Lady Thalor failed to see the shifts in attitude amongst their people as the years passed on. To them, the celebrations were simply a tradition.

The streets of Calidan began to fill with people in the early hours of the morning. The smell of roasting meats and spiced wine fill the air as families walk through the streets and towards the park. Banners bearing the sigil of House Thalor—three gold pieces carried by an owl—hang from every corner of town, a reminder that Calidan’s prosperity was owed to the help and oversight of House Thalor. But beneath the guise of celebration, there was a quiet discontent. The common folk, though present in body, were distant in spirit. Most walk with forced smiles on their faces, but nonetheless they were happy to just have a day off. To not attend the celebration would be seen as an insult, but their hearts were heavy with the knowledge that while they struggled to feed their families, the nobles feasted. Despite the aggravation, the streets eventually came alive with music and laughter as the morning grew later. The park had been transformed into a spectacle, with maroon and gold tents lining the pathways in neat rows, offering a variety of foods and trinkets. A large band set up on a wooden stage near the middle of the celebration, began playing lively music for the people walking through.

For Lyria, the annual celebration had always been a strange blend of comfort and confusion. It was drilled into her from a young age that the celebration was not just a festivity, but a way to honor the role her family plays in ensuring the prosperity of Calidan. Her father often reminded her that it was their duty, their burden, and their honor to maintain that legacy. Lyria took pride in her family’s success. She knew that one day, all of this would be her responsibility—that she would be expected to continue the legacy.

There was no doubt that her father was a stern man. He showed his love not with words or affection, but through his expectations and standards. As his only heir, he held a firm belief that Lyria must be strong before she could be anything else. His daughter must grow to be resilient, capable, and focused, just as he was raised to be. His love was the kind that shaped and prepared, and Lyria had accepted long ago that his strictness was born out of care. He was not raising a daughter; he was raising an heir. Her mother, Lady Thalor, often matched her husband’s sternness, but from a different approach. Where her father emphasized strength, her mother taught her the art of perception and reading a room. Lyria had always admired her mother’s ability to silence a room with a single glance, but also command it with the softest of smiles.

As the band began to play another lively song, Lyria continued to follow behind her parents through the park, her eyes scanning the crowds of people. Lord Thalor moved through the crowd in a dignified manner, greeting the common folk with a practiced smile and nod. Lady Thalor floated beside her husband with watchful eyes and a warm smile as she greeted and welcomed everyone. For Lyria, these interactions were lessons in real time. She observed her parent’s tones and their strategic choice of words. She herself would give soft nods in response to greetings from the townspeople, trying her best to be as calm and dignified as her parents.

Amidst all of the activities, an older man began to approach the Thalor family. He moved slowly, with a stiff leg that dragged slightly with each step. He looked like he was a taller man, but time had slowly given him a hunched posture. At first glance, it was easy to see his frailness. But as he approached, Lyria’s eyes were drawn to the genuine smile that brightened his features. The moment that he smiled, it was as if all of the years had melted away. Lyria found herself instinctively returning the expression as he continued to approach. Her gaze turned to Rhysarin's movement as he stepped forward, always vigilant in his role as the family’s protector. Though he was never overtly imposing, Rhysarin’s presence always carried a quiet, lethal authority. The old man, noticing Rhysarin’s movement, gave him a friendly smile and a nod. Rhysarin smiled kindly in return, stepping backwards once more with a slight nod.

The old man approached Lord and Lady Thalor and offered a respectful bow before speaking with a cheerful tone.

“My Lord, My Lady,” he began, his voice rough but clear, “It is an honor.”

Lord Thalor gave a small nod in acknowledgement as he shook the old man’s hand. The man glanced briefly at Lyria, his gaze softening with recognition.

“And young Lady Lyria,” he continued to smile, “are you enjoying yourself?”

Lyria returned his smile as she nodded in response. She concentrated on the conversation between the three adults as she stood in silence. As the discussion continued, the man’s attention reverted back to Lyria before glancing between Lord and Lady Thalor.

“Might I introduce the young Lady to my grandson, Nyrion? Perhaps he could accompany young Lady Lyria for the afternoon?”

Lyria hesitantly looked at her mother and father, but before she could protest, the older man had hobbled himself to face the food booths.

“Boy!” he called out, his voice carrying across the crowd with surprising strength for such a frail man.

Lyria turned her gaze in the direction that the old man was calling. She watched as a boy, likely no older than she was, began to approach nervously. He was slightly taller than she was, with dark hair that looked like it had not been trimmed in months. The boy moved through the crowd with a hesitant look on his face. As he reached his grandfather, Nyrion’s eyes moved briefly to Lyria’s before quickly lowering. The old man placed a hand on his grandson’s shoulder as a proud smile spread across his face.

“This is my grandson, Nyrion,” the old man said affectionately, motioning for Nyrion to step forward with a light wave of his hand. “Don’t be afraid, boy. The Lady won’t bite.”

Nyrion hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking nervously between his grandfather and the Thalor family, but he stepped forward as instructed. His hands fidgeted at his sides as he approached Lyria. He offered her a quick, awkward bow, his dark hair falling over his face as he ducked his head. Lyria politely smiled before turning her gaze to her mother. Lady Thalor moved her eyes to her daughter as she gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“Why don’t you introduce Lyria to the other children, Nyrion?” Lady Thalor smiled softly at the young boy.

Lyria nervously looked at her mother before stepping towards the strange boy. She fidgeted with her hands as the boy turned to make his way towards the grassy field in the distance.

Nyrion walked a few paces ahead of her, his posture tense and his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. As they neared the grassy field in the distance, Lyria watched as children of all ages chased each other in the nearby grass. Her heart raced as they approached, feeling a wave of discomfort wash over her. She has never succeeded in making friends with the other noble children, so why would it be any different with these common children?

The laughter continued as they walked across the field together towards the group of children. As they approached, a girl, who appeared a few years older than Lyria, stepped forward. She eyed Lyria curiously, her expression unreadable at first.

“Who’s this?” the girl asked, tilting her head slightly, her eyes flickering between Lyria and Nyrion.

Nyrion cleared his throat before stepping forward and speaking up.

“This is Lady Lyria,” he spoke, his voice a little louder than before. “She’s, um, here to play with us.”

The girl raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the introduction as she glanced at Lyria once more.

“Can the Lady keep up?” she smirked slightly as she looked down at the young noble girl. “I mean, I wouldn’t want you to get hurt or anything.”

Lyria held her tongue as she listened to the girl’s mocking tone. She inhaled deeply before speaking.

“I can keep up,” Lyria replied, her voice steady but soft.

The girl crossed her arms as she studied her for a moment. Lyria could feel the stares of the other children as they stood around the field. Finally, the girl’s smirk softened into a smile.

“Alright then,” she said, stepping back and gesturing to the others. “Let’s restart then.”

Lyria followed Nyrion further into the field. A few of the other children greeted her as she joined the others and some of them whispered amongst themselves. She listened as one of the older boys began to explain the rules of the game.

The game was like hide and seek, a game she often played with Rhysarin during her lessons to test her stealth and awareness. But here, the rules were slightly different. The boy explained that if you were found, you had the chance to run and hide once more. As the older boy explained the rules, Lyria felt a surge of confidence. She was good at these kinds of games. Maybe this was her chance to show them that she was not just a noble girl who couldn’t keep up.

As the children began to spread out across the field, Lyria glanced around at the landscape. Her eyes moved to a few trees in the distance as she began to think. She darted towards the trees, her movements light and quick. Once she reached the tree, Lyria began to quickly climb up into the tree’s lower branches, positioning herself in a way that allowed her to see the field while still remaining hidden.

From her hiding spot, Lyria watched the seeker wander throughout the field. The other children darted from one hiding spot to another, giggling quietly as they barely avoided being caught. Lyria stayed still as the seeker passed beneath her without noticing. She felt a sense of accomplishment wash over her for doing something that had nothing to do with her family’s status, even if it was just a game. For the first time in a long while, Lyria wasn’t trying to impress anyone. She was simply part of the group—a child playing a game, just like everyone else.

She watched the game unfold as more and more children were found by the seeker. Minutes passed by and finally the game was declared over. Lyria climbed down from the tree, her movements steady and precise. As she walked back towards the group, the girl who had teased her earlier spoke up from behind her.

“Nice spot,” her smirk had softened slightly.

Lyria smiled back, feeling a sense of pride. The rest of the children gathered back into a group as they began to chatter about starting the game again. Lyria took her place next to Nyrion again as she watched him stand with his hands in his pockets. She did not know why she chose to stand next to the boy who had spoken all but a few words to her, but at least it was someone she was slightly familiar with.

Her gaze wandered across the group of children towards the older kids. They stood in a group together, whispering quietly. Her eyes lingered on them for a few moments, their hushed conversation making her feel slightly anxious. She watched as one of the older boys stepped forward to volunteer to be the next seeker. Lyria glanced around the field to look for her next hiding spot. She was determined to find a spot just as clever as the last one. The seeker closed his eyes and began to count down loudly, giving everyone the signal to scatter.

Without a word, Lyria took off, darting across the field with swift movement. She immediately spotted a thick cluster of bushes a few feet away. It wasn’t high up like the tree hid in previously, but the foliage was thick enough for her to hide in. Lyria quickly crouched behind the bushes, tucking herself behind the leaves. She watched as few children hid behind a large boulder nearby, including the older girl who teased Lyria earlier.

The seeker’s voice echoed through the field, signaling that he was beginning his search. Lyria remained perfectly still, barely breathing as she focused on keeping herself hidden. She heard the quiet giggles from the nearby children as they hid. Lyria peered through the leaves, watching as the older girl hiding nearby peered around the boulder. The seeker stood a few yards away as he looked behind trees and bushes. Her heart raced, but she remained as still as she could. Her gaze returned to the older girl once more. She watched intently as the girl peered her face around the boulder, giving glances to the other older children hiding nearby. The girl seemed to be communicating silently with the other children, her eyes darting from one to the next. Lyria could tell from the start that the children were all comfortable with each and were most likely friends. It made her wonder if they were planning something.

The seeker moved closer, his footsteps now slow and careful. She could hear the rustling of leaves as the boy searched behind a nearby tee. Lyria kept her gaze on the girl nearby who was now closely watching the seeker. With a quick glance to her friends, the girl pursed her lips slightly. Her chest rose slowly before she began to softly whistle in the direction of the seeker. Lyria furrowed her eyebrows as the girl and the seeker locked eyes. She couldn’t understand why the girl would draw attention to herself. But then, she noticed the girl faintly nod her head in the direction of Lyria’s hiding spot.

Lyria’s heart sank as she remained perfectly still. The seeker’s eyes followed the girl’s subtle nod, his gaze now drifting toward the bushes where Lyria was hiding. The boy took a few steps towards the bushes, his attention seemingly fixed on her hiding spot. Lyria’s muscles tensed as her mind raced with confusion and panic. As the seeker approached, Lyria began to shuffle her feet, preparing to take off, but that was quickly interrupted when she felt the grasp of the older boy. She whipped her head around as the older boy began to drag her out from the bushes, still holding her in the air. Lyria kicked her feet as the boy began to carry her towards the middle of the field.

“This isn’t a part of the game!” She yelled as she struggled to break free.

The older boy, with a mischievous grin on his face, ignored her protests. His friends were now laughing, and a few of the younger children watched nervously, unsure of what to do. Lyria’s heart pounded, a mixture of anger and embarrassment rising in her chest. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go—she was supposed to be playing, just like everyone else.

“A little change in rules, M’Lady,” the boy teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he carried Lyria toward the center of the field.

Lyria’s protests were drowned out by the growing laughter of the older children, who seemed to take great pleasure in this moment. She had never been treated this way before, and her mind spun with thoughts of how to make it stop. As they moved further away from the other children, Lyria glanced around desperately. Some of the younger children seemed worried, but were unsure on what they should do. The older children laughed, but their intentions did not seem harmful. Her panic only grew as her gaze darted toward a pond that was just beyond the edge of the field.

Meanwhile, Nyrion had made his way back to the main area of the celebration. After the last game, he noticed the older children whispering and smirking amongst themselves. He had spent enough time with them to understand that usually means they are up to something. He walked away when he heard the older boys whispering about going to the pond. Nyrion did not like swimming, and just the thought of that cold water made him shiver. He figured Lyria would be fine, so he had quietly excused himself and returned to the celebration.

As he approached his grandfather, who was still talking to Lord and Lady Thalor, he fidgeted with his sleeves as he sipped from a cup of water.

“Where is the young Lady?” His grandfather asked cheerfully, glancing around for Lyria.

“She’s swimming,” Nyrion replied casually. “I didn’t want to, so I came back.”

At that moment, Lady Thalor’s smile froze. Her eyes immediately darted to Lord Thalor, who tensed beside her. Her calm composure is shattered in an instant, her already pale face turning even paler. Lord Thalor remained calm on the outside, though his body tensed visibly. He forced himself to breathe slowly, calculating, as he always did. But inside him, fear gripped around his heart—his only heir, his daughter, was in danger.

“Swimming?” Lord Thalor’s voice was dangerously quiet.

His piercing gaze locked onto Nyrion as his mind raced. Swimming? Lord Thalor spent the last eight years of his daughter’s life putting her through rigorous training—teaching her the ways of nobility and even combat. But swimming? That was never part of her lessons—it never even crossed his mind. Now, that oversight weighed on him heavily. The future of House Thalor was now threatened, and he knew it. He could feel Lady Thalor’s fingers digging into his arm as her breathing quickened.

“She can’t swim,” Lady Thalor whispered, her voice shaking. The words escaped her lips almost like a breathless prayer, as though speaking them might somehow make the Twin Angels undo the reality. “Our daughter–”

Lord Thalor’s jaw tightened as he processed the gravity of the situation. He could not afford to lose control, not in front of so many people. The celebration was still in full swing around them, the music and laughter creating an eerie backdrop to his climbing dread. He turned his gaze toward Rhysarin without saying a word. The look was enough.

Rhysarin was already moving, his gaze sharpened as he locked onto the direction of the field nearby. Without hesitation, he sprinted, his long strides cutting through the crowd with alarming speed. He was not just the family’s protector, but Lyria’s mentor, the man who had watched and trained her since birth. He knew of all of her skills and the things that she lacked at, and he understood—perhaps better than anyone—that Lyria had never learned to swim. The moment the word “pond” had been spoken, Rhysarin knew that the day would be shifted drastically.

Back at the pond, Lyria’s panic grew with each second. The older boy holding her seemed to have no malicious intent, in fact, this seemed like a game to him. But the way that he casually carried her toward the water made her feel small and powerless. She kicked harder, trying to free herself from the boy’s grip.

“Please, let me down!” Her voice cracked, but the children just laughed.

“It’s just a little swim, M’Lady,” He teased, clearly not understanding the seriousness of the situation.

The boy tightened his grip as his friends egged him on, laughing louder as they approached the edge of the pond. Lyria’s eyes darted to the pond, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. She was not afraid of much—her father, well… Rhysarin taught her to be brave. But this… this was different. The other children stood back, some giggling nervously, others looking uncomfortable. The older boy glanced at his friends, seeking approval as they all nodded. Lyria’s eyes widened as the boy began to swing his arms.

“Please! I can’t–”

Before she could finish her plea, the boy swung her body and let go. The cold enveloped her immediately as her entire body dipped under the water. The pond’s surface rippled and then stilled, and for a brief moment, there was nothing but silence.

Underwater, Lyria’s world was chaos. The cold shocked her system first, paralyzing her for a second as her lungs screamed for air. She instinctively began to kick under the water, flailing her arms and legs, but it only sent her deeper into the murky water. Her robes weighed her down, the heaviness of the fabric making her sink quicker. The darkness swallowed her and she thrashed under the water. Panic began to take hold. She tried to scream, but the water filled her throat instead, choking her as she now struggled harder. Her lungs began to burn and her chest tightened as she felt her limbs grow heavier and heavier. The could feel herself losing the fight as her eyes slowly fluttered shut.

Rhysarin’s gaze locked onto the group of children standing in the nearby field. The children stood together, their laughter now nonexistent as they stared into the murky water. Rhysarin’s feet moved on their own as he pushed through the children, who quickly scattered in terror. He didn’t hesitate for a moment. Without a word, he shed his cloak and leapt into the pond.

The water was dark and thick with grainy sand, making it nearly impossible to see. His mind raced as he pushed deeper through the murky water, looking for any sign of the young girl. His lungs screamed for air, but he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop until he found her.

His hand brushed against something soft as he opened his eyes and squinted firmly. He could barely make out what was in front of him, but the floating strands of white hair confirmed it. His hand closed around her arm as he began to swim with all of the strength that he could muster. He pulled her lifeless form through the murky water as his lungs burned with every second. His eyes stung from the pond’s grime, but he continued to hold onto her as he dragged toward the shore. As soon as his feet touched the edge of the pond, he wasted no time pulling Lyria onto the bank. Her body slumped onto the grass, her skin pale and her lips blue.

Lord and Lady Thalor stood a few feet away. Lord Thalor remained composed as he held his now weeping wife in his arms. Lady Thalor’s hands clutched her husband’s arm, trembling as she stared at her daughter’s still form. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

Rhysarin knelt beside Lyria, his hands already moving with steady urgency as he sprung into action. As much as he tried to remain calm, his hands still trembled slightly as he moved. He had saved lives in the past, but never had the stakes been so personal. Without hesitation, he tilted her head back as he moved his hand to the side of her neck. He felt a pulse, but it was faint. He positioned his palms against her chest and began the chest compressions. His entire body moved with the effort, his arms locked as he counted each push.

“Come on, Lyria,” he muttered under his breath.

Her body rose and fell under his hands with each push as he remained determined to fix this, his muscles aching from the effort. Time seemed to stand still as the crowd around them watched in silence. The only sound to be heard was the quiet sobs from Lady Thalor in the background, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as she clung to her husband. Lord Thalor’s face remained stoic, but Rhysarin could see the way that his hands trembled.

After what felt like an eternity, a faint gurgling sound escaped Lyria’s throat as she lurched forward. She coughed violently, her body convulsing as the pond water spewed from her mouth. Her chest heaved as she cried and gasped for air. Rhysarin exhaled shakily as he held Lyria’s shaking frame.

Lady Thalor finally let go of her husband’s arms as she rushed to kneel beside her daughter. Her hands shook as she cupped Lyria’s face in her hands, her eyes filled with tears. Her hands trembled as she ran her fingers through Lyria’s hair, as if to reassure herself hat her daughter was truly alive.

“My girl…My sweet girl,” She whimpered as she held her daughters trembling body to her chest.

The crowd around them began to murmur softly, the noise of the celebration now dying down. Lord Thalor remained composed, though the tightness in his jaw and the way he clenched his fist would say otherwise. He stood over his wife and daughter with his eyes fixed on Lyria’s trembling form. Rhysarin remained kneeling beside them, silent and tense with the aftershock of what just happened. His eyes stayed on Lyria—he had saved her, but only just.

“We are leaving,” Lord Thalor finally spoke, his voice low but firm. He glanced at Rhysarin, a silent command passing between the two of them.

Rhysarin nodded without a word, rising to his feet. He watched as Lady Thalor cradled her daughter in her arms and began to make her way back towards the carriages.

Back at the Thalor Hold, the air was filled with tenseness as servants moved quietly, setting things in order for the young Lady. Lyria had been immediately taken to her chambers, where a warm bath was drawn for her. She sat in the bath, her body slowly warning as the heat spread through her bones. Her mother sat nearby, her eyes never leaving Lyria’s face as she clung to a damp cloth nervously.

When the bath was done, Lady Thalor helped Lyria into bed, tucking the blankets around her with a tenderness that contrasted strongly with her usual stern demeanor. It was not often that Lyria’s mother put her to bed. Most of the time it was one of her retainers, but tonight was different. Tonight, her mother hovered beside her, smoothing Lyria’s hair back from her damp forehead until she drifted off into sleep.

Meanwhile, Rhysarin stood alone in the hallway outside of Lord Thalor’s study, his mind racing. He replayed the events of the day over and over, and each time, he questioned why he did not have anyone go with Lady Lyria. He was Lyria’s protector, sworn to keep her safe, and yet she nearly died. It did not matter that he had saved her in the end—he should have never let it get that far.

He drew in a deep breath and knocked on the wooden door.

“Enter,” came Lord Thalor’s voice on the other side.

Rhysarin stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Lord Thalor sat at his desk, surrounded by papers, though his attention was entirely on Rhysarin. Rhysarin hesitated for a moment, his heart heavy with the decision he had already made. He stepped forward, bowing deeply before speaking.

“My Lord, I have come to give my resignation.”

His words hung in the hair as Lord Thalor’s expression hardened instantly, but Rhysarin pressed on, determined to say what he needed to.

“I failed today,” he continued, his fists clenched tightly. “Lady Lyria is my responsibility to protect. I should have known. I should sent someone—”

“Enough,” Lord Thalor’s voice cut through the room.

He rose from his chair slowly, his eyes never leaving Rhysarin. Rhysarin stood tall, his gaze fixed on the floor as Lord Thalor walked around the desk.

“Do you truly believe that resigning pardons you from this burden?”

Rhysarin’s breath caught in his throat, but he forced himself to stand taller.

“I am not looking to be pardoned, my Lord. I swore an oath to protect your family, and I failed.”

Lord Thalor raised a hand, silencing him again.

“Danger is inevitable, especially for someone like my daughter,” he continued to pace back and forth. “Do you know what it means to fail, Rhysarin? Truly fail? Failure would have been burying my daughter today. Failure would have been her breath never returning. But she is alive, thanks to you." He paused, his voice lowering, more measured but still resolute. "You saved her life."

There was a long pause, the room filled only with the sound of Rhysarin’s breathing.

“Come with me,” Lord Thalor commanded, already turning toward the door.

Rhysarin hesitated for a moment, but then followed without question. They moved through the halls, the only sound was their boots hitting the stone floor. Eventually, they reached Lyria’a chambers. Lord Thalor opened the door softly, gesturing for Rhysarin to enter.

The room was dark, the only light coming from a few candles around the room. Lyria was asleep, her chest rising and falling gently under the warmth of the heavy blankets. Lady Thalor sat by her side, watching her sleep peacefully.

Rhysarin followed Lord Thalor as they approached the side of Lyria’s bed, his eyes on Lyria’s peaceful face. His eyebrows furrowed as Lord Thalor gently placed Rhysarin’s hand on Lyria’s forehead. Her skin was warm, a stark contrast to the icy coldness from the pond earlier that day.

“Rhysarin,” Lord Thalor spoke quietly. “She is warm. She is safe. That is your doing.”

Rhysarin kept his gaze on the young child. He had expected to feel the same crushing guilt that weighed on him all evening, but instead, there was relief.

“You fulfilled your duty,” Lord Thalor continued to whisper quietly. “You protected my daughter, and I will not hear any more of this resignation. I forbid it.”

Rhysarin bowed his head, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes. He had been prepared to walk away, but here, in the quiet of Lyria’s chambers, with her warm and safe, he understood the weight of Lord Thalor’s words. Lord Thalor placed a firm hand on his shoulder, a silent acknowledgement of his loyalty. He stood, nodding once to Rhysarin before placing a kiss on the top of his wife’s head.

Rhysarin stood slowly, bowing towards Lord and Lady Thalor before quietly leaving the room. As he walked back through the dimly lit halls, the weight on his chest felt lighter.

Tonight, the Thalor family was whole and that was enough.